


No Hard Feelings

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3426536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Butch likes bending over for a lady with a nice set of tits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hard Feelings

Cass leans forward with her elbows on the bar, not bothering to look up as the young man plonks himself on the stool beside her.

“Hey hey! Whatcha drinking?”

“Whiskey.” She takes another swig, tilting her face to give him the hairy eyeball. The gallon of hair product and leather jacket made her think Kings first time she saw him, but he squawked at the comparison.

“Alright! Let’s see how well you keep up with the King of the Tunnel Snakes, baby!”

She raises an eyebrow, torn between chuckling and rolling her eyes. “I can drink you under the table any day of the week, Butch.”

He rises to the challenge and they alternate shots and stories. It’s still weird hearing Butch call the boss ‘Nosebleed,’ but probably no weirder than Butch hearing everyone call her ‘the Courier.’

Two shots later, Cass feels lubricated enough to apologize. Good thing, since she figures Butch is still sober enough to remember.

“Sorry about shoving you off way back. _Everyone_ gives the boss all kinds of chicken-shit errands. Weird-ass missions and people to bring back—hell, figured you and the mutie were just another set. So when you came up all ‘Do you know the Courier? Can she help us find our friend?’ So—fuck. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Shit, nah. No hard feelings.” Butch runs a finger through a patch of wet on the counter, frowning in concentration. “Yeah, everyone gave her that kind of shit back in the Capital Wasteland too. She just never says no to nothing.”

Plus it’s just such a weird-ass story, figuring how some Vault kid from the East Coast wound up in a shallow grave outside of Goodsprings, then started hauling ass around the Mojave—the kind of yarn that stretches belief ‘til it snaps.

Butch takes another swig, beaming wide and glassy at her. “I don’t got hard feelings about that. But I got _real_ hard feelings for—“

And then he falls off his stool.

 

* * *

 

“You are a fucking idiot,” Cass tells him the next day when he stumbles into the kitchen. She just finished fixing steak and eggs.

He eyes it hopefully as she douses the fried eggs in pepper sauce. “That for me?”

“Hell no. Get your own breakfast.”

“I’ll arm-wrestle you for it!”

Cass bursts out cackling, setting her plate on the table with a heavy thump. “Deal.”

The _thwack_ of his knuckles hitting wood rings throughout the suite.

“ _Fuck_!”

“That’ll teach you,” Cass snickers around a mouthful of eggs.

 

* * *

 

That night the Courier’s taken everyone else out to a show at the Tops, but Butch brought a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards and belligerently challenged Cass to a rematch. Cass had no desire to watch either the show or the East Coast mutant making eyes at the boss, so accepted the challenge.

But somewhere between drinks and dropped cards and repeatedly beating Butch at arm-wrestling, Cass ended up crushing him into the wall and pressing her thigh between his legs.

Well—fuck that. She knows how it _started_ , with him being a mouthy fuck and so she bet him he couldn’t walk a straight line, then he stumbled and she caught him and what the hell, he’s kinda cute.

So she bites his neck, feels his cock twitch inside his pants and snakes her fingers through his hair. He groans some kind of protest (“not the hair, fuck no”) but his heart’s not in it, since he’s too busy trying to cup her ass and bury his nose against her collar.

“Well, _shit_. Unless you want me to screw you up against the wall, we better fumble on to the bed,” Cass groans.

“Unless _you_ want _me_ to screw you up against the—ah, fuck it.” Butch angles his face upward, presses his mouth to the underside of her chin and it’s too rough to be called a kiss but too much lip to be a bite.

She releases his hair, gripping his shoulders and half-dragging, half-pulling him to the bedroom. Kicking the door shut—and locking it for good measure, just in case everyone comes back early—she then pushes Butch to the bed. His ass hits the mattress so hard the springs squeal, then she’s on him, straddling his hips and unbuttoning her shirt. He’s wide-eyed and breathing heavy, devouring the sight like she’s candy. She flings the shirt aside and he reaches up to try and unhook her bra. She lets him _try_ , snickering as his tongue pokes past his teeth, but after he only gets one hook loose and then swears when snagging his fingers over the band, she takes mercy and removes her bra. With _one_ hand, giving him a knowing smirk.

“So you know, I ain’t big on having little Cassidys running around, so no penetration. That alright?”

“Fuck, I don’t care if you bent me over and nailed me in the ass. Not with tits like that,” Butch sighs, cupping her breasts and running a thumb over the areola. He squeezes gentle, _reverential_ , and she leans forward so he can put his mouth on them. He obliges with soft suckles along the slope, his fingers tracing circles in until they light upon her nipples, and she moans despite herself.

“Hey, Snake-man, there’s a whole lotta other areas to cover.”

“Yeah, but this feels _nice_ …”

“Shit, you ever even eaten a woman?”

“Fuck you, I’ve got experience!”

“Yeah? Then _prove it_ ,” she snarls, biting his ear and _fuck_ the way he pants beneath her is real hot, trembling and awkward.

His hands circle her waist, graze along her belly with light strokes that send tingles down her spine. He’s more certain with her belt and zipper than he had been with her bra, sliding his fingers down to the front of her panties. He finds her clit through the fabric, rubbing first a little too hard—she hisses, arches away and he mumbles an apology—before finding the right pressure. She leans forward, putting weight on one hand and using the other to shimmy her jeans past her hips. He reaches up to help, looping his thumb under the waistband and helping her pull the denim to her knees. Rolling to the side, she kicks off her boots—fuck it, should have done that _first_ —and then the jeans and panties together in a wrinkled mess but _shit_ she can always grab them later.

He traces the freckles of her belly, going down and running his thumb over her pubic hair. She grabs his wrists, squeezing tight enough to make the skin blanch but his grin stretches even wider as she shuffles forward on her knees. Legs spread wide, braced around his shoulders, she releases his hands to grab the headboard. Her pussy hovers inches above his lips and he arches up to meet her, nose tickling through her hair as he slides his hands up her thighs. His hands are smoother than she’d expected from most Wasteland assholes, but she’s not surprised—not with as much care as he gives his ‘do, and not when she’s _seen_ his pack of toiletries and lotions and creams. Soft, pampered hands for a little boy from the Vault, but _fuck_ they feel nice gliding over her skin, thumbs pressing over the labia and pulling her open, exposing the hard throb of her clit for his lips and tongue.

She groans, pulling back when he sucks a little too hard, hot and intense, but he backs off and goes back to warm swirls of his tongue over her clit and labia. Tongue and just a hint of teeth, enough to make her hiss, and she grinds forward onto his mouth as she rides out into orgasm.

Butch looks up at her, licking his lips, her juices streaked over his chin. “So how was that?”

“Don’t get too mouthy now,” she laughs, tousling his hair. He arches up like an angry cat and she flicks his nose. “C’mon, pants off, Butchie.”

He reaches between her legs, his leather sleeves trailing through her slick but he ignores it as he fumbles the zipper, inching the material and his boxers down his thighs. She hastens the process, shuffling back on the bed to haul his pants off—and _fuck_ but it gets tangled around his ankles because again, they were both fucking _idiots_ and didn’t take the boots off—but between the two of them, they make short work of both his shoes and his pants.

Cass leans across him, breasts brushing his cheeks as she grabs a slim bottle of lotion from the nearby dresser. Desert heat makes her knees and elbows cracked and dry as all hell, but at least this helps. And the other uses ain’t half bad.

“Hey hey, what ya doing with that?” he asks, chin thrust out. But heat underlines the bravado, his legs spreading wide—still beneath her, his knees bumping her legs apart—in anticipation.

She wets her lips, grazing her teeth along his ear. “Looks like you might like a couple’a fingers in you. That right?”

“I figure you might persuade me,” he replies cagily. She snorts, making like she’s about to put the bottle back, and he squawks, “Wait wait! Didn’t say no!”

“Not saying ‘no’ ain’t the same as saying ‘yes,’ Butchie. Unless you want to change that answer?” She cocks her head, still holding the bottle.

He groans past clenched teeth, fists clenched in the blankets. “You got me. Yeah, I’d like a couple fingers in me.”

Pumping the top gets a generous squirt onto her palm, which she slathers on her fingers. Not enough rubbing to warm it up, but enough to squelch as she presses a finger to his asshole. He groans appreciation as she slips in, past that outer resistance and doing tiny thrusts, barely more than the first knuckle as she croons, “Good boy. How’s that feel?”

“Fucking _tops_ , babe. But would like your mouth too—aw _yeah_ ,” he moans as she licks his shaft, running her tongue from balls to tip and tracing over the vein beneath his cock. She wraps her mouth around the head, a shallow suck to pull him in as her free hand pumps along the base. That same lotion helps it glide along, even if it taste funny towards the part where her tongue meets the wetness—but a little more sucking and soon she doesn’t taste much beyond her own saliva, drowning out the aftertaste.

It’s fun working out the rhythm; teasing a little more in the front means she can push a little more in the back, bobbing her head and listening as his grunts alter pitch, going higher, almost mewling as he brings his knees together. A jab of her elbows, resting them on the meat of his thighs, keeps him from squeezing too hard. But it means he’s excited enough—relaxed enough—that she slides another finger alongside the first.

She meant to go slow and gentle, but the Vault kid practically thrusts himself onto her hand. “ _Fuck_ yeah, that’s hot. Got— _oh fuck_ —“ The words peter out as she slides both fingers in together, smooth and sweet up to the second knuckle. She’d be murmuring praise, something soothing except for her mouthful of cock. Butch doesn’t need it though, mouthing happy obscenities as he tightens his fists, elbows locked out and arches into her—

Even if his body weren’t keying up tighter than a spring, the little throb of the vein on her tongue and his ball’s lifting would warn her. So she lets him come in her mouth, cupping her tongue and waiting until he’s finished. She spits it into the sheets—not enough patience to stumble to the bathroom—and wipes her mouth on his shirt.

“Hey, not cool,” he protests. He shuts up real quick when she rocks her fingers into his ass though, eyes closing with an involuntary moan.

“You serious about nailing you in the ass?”

He looks down at her, eyes crinkling at the corners even as he tries regaining some of that swagger. “Fuck yeah.” His toes curl, shoulders digging into the cushion as she spreads her fingers, scissoring to test his resistance. He’d need more warm-up anyway—no monster cocks stretching his tight ass anytime soon—but the welcome hints he’s done this before.

“Holding you to that, Butchie.”

 

* * *

 

A week passes before they get their next chance, the Nosebleed Courier (the two nicknames now irreversibly smashed together in Cass’ mind) off doing something noble and stupid with Arcade, Veronica, and Fawkes—the most well-meaning do-gooders Cass has ever seen, with Boone tagging along to add the necessary amount of ‘stupid.’ Lily and Raul went to some jumble sale and took the ‘bot and the dog with them, leaving Cass and Butch to wrestle around the bed again.

She’s got him pinned beneath her, teeth on his neck and hands sliding up his shirt. Her palms skim the smooth of his belly and bump up along his ribs to his nipples. They’re soft, sensitive—he gasps when she tweaks them, protesting, “Hey, hey, ‘nuff of that!”

“Then get naked for me,” she growls, raking her nails over his side as she rolls off.

He strips hastily, jacket and shirt and jeans—this time he remembered the boots first—tumbling into a pile. She takes off her jeans and underwear as well, digging into the dresser for her new toy and harness. Michael Angelo’s discreet little side business means she has a nice new cock, clear and slender; thicker than her two fingers, curved and long enough to reach the prostate (or so she’s been told) and with just enough weight to make her throw a swagger in her step as she struts back to the bed.

Butch smirks, lying back with his hands beneath his head and his cock already hard. “Mine’s bigger,” he taunts in a sing-song.

“My fist’s plenty big enough—“ she starts, miming sliding her fingers in one long thrust as she slicks lotion over them.

He interrupts with a shudder. “Alright, alright, too much. Got it. Can I get a little mouth for starters?”

“Only if you jerk me off.”

“Deal,” he sighs as she slides beside him, her head level with his crotch and his with her glass cock. There’s probably some kind of fancy shit-term for this style of sideways sixty-nine, but Cass doesn’t know it. Doesn’t care much either, not with his asshole so much more accommodating as she slides her finger in to the second knuckle, wriggling to warm him up as she peppers kisses and licks along his cock. The pressure of his hand on her shaft, working back and forth, sends pulses through her clit, making the toy feel like an extension of herself rather than just some bits and parts. The genderfuck’s part of the reason it’s so damn hot, thinking about her cock in his hands and how good it’d look in his mouth next time—hell yeah, definitely next time. She’s soaked, thighs slippery with slick, struggling to keep her rhythm going but he continues relentlessly. Slipping in that second finger, she works back and forth, stretching—and she can’t even focus on licking him anymore, too worried she might bite in her excitement so she pants and moans against his balls, sucking hard on his inner thigh to keep from screaming her orgasm.

“We got the suite to ourselves. No need to stay quiet.” Butch punctuates that with a nip on her leg, so she pinches behind his knee in response.

“Left a nice mark on you though. Call it a souvenir,” she snorts, eyeing the red love-bite a scant fingers-width below the crease where thighs meet hips. “Ready to get fucked?”

“Shit yeah. Dunno if you’re ready to give it,” he teases, voice rising in a squeal as she slices the edge of her nails along his ass and pulls out.

“C’mon then, roll over for me Butch.”

He flops over with pathetic eagerness, teetering with one hand beneath him for support and the other pumping over his cock. Bent over and ass-up, he makes a pretty picture. She likes the hint of vulnerability, the way it contrasts with the cocky grin he throws over his shoulder. He’s impatient, vibrating in his skin—so she takes her time to lube up her cock, one hand on the back of his neck where the sun-browned skin meets the paler flesh of his torso. He rocks against her, the slippery toy nestling between his cheeks so she grips the base, guiding in.

“C-cold,” he gasps, so she leans on top of him, her shirt sweat-pressed between them as she grips his shoulder.

“Warming you up enough?” she breathes on the back of his neck, catching the scent of some cool-edged cologne mixed with pomade and sweat. Her fingers slip, resting on the pulse of his throat and he shudders.

“Hot.” The blood throbs close to the surface, hard and fast and she thinks of how much trust there is in letting her do this, the hard pad of her thumb pressed under his jaw and how just a little more pressure would choke. He must be thinking the same, since he whines low in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing against her palm. “C’mon babe, you got me right where you—“ and she steals his breath with a hard thrust, hips slapping into his ass and him tumbling forward. He catches himself on his elbow just in time, still frantically jerking himself off with his other hand. She relaxes her hand, afraid she choked him in that fall, but he groans, “Nah, nah. Keep it. I like the pressure.”

So she keeps one hand on his throat, the other digging into his ass as she continues thrusting. The little bit of clit feedback’s nice, grooved nubs of the strap-on pressing nice and firm, but not enough to really get her off. It’s worth it to watch him sweating and groaning beneath her though. His hair’s a mess now, no amount of product capable of keeping his ‘do in place, and she likes it, all his pretense and posturing dripping away as he cries out and comes on the blanket.

She holds still for a little, letting him catch his breath before nipping his ear, murmuring, “How you holding up, Butch?”

“Th-that was _fucking_ hot,” he groans, still shaking with his ass propped up. All the blood’s in his face, lips flushed red and wet like he just smeared on some lipstick. “Fuck.”

Cass smacks his ass, more to see the flesh jiggle and to tease him than to sting. When he twists back to mouth “that all you got?” she reconsiders though, winding back as she pulls out—and fuck, that sloppy lubed-up mess she left in his asshole looks hot, something to add to the mental playback list when she’s alone in her bunk—and spanking him hard enough to rock him forward once more.

“Shit, knew you had it in you.” He flops bonelessly to the side, a sated grin on his face.

Unfastening her harness, she drawls, “More like _you_ had _it_ in you.”

They don’t kiss—Butch doesn’t push and Cass doesn’t want to wreck the heat and feel-good friction by getting all soppy about it—but they spoon after getting dressed. Cass ends up as the big spoon, being taller, but Butch hooks his toes over her ankle to draw her closer.

All in all, Cass decides she likes this mouthy Vault kid.


End file.
